


he gives me toothaches just from kissin' me

by youmockussir



Series: Quarantine Fics [2]
Category: Orbiting Human Circus of the Air (Podcast)
Genre: Dancing, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, John Cameron's Parties, M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmockussir/pseuds/youmockussir
Summary: There's something so intimate about the waltz. Julian knows this, and Jacques is about to learn.
Relationships: Jacques/Julian the Janitor, Leticia Saltier/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Quarantine Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669657
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	he gives me toothaches just from kissin' me

Sometimes, John Cameron will throw a party at his enormous house. It only happens for the most special of occasions, like New Year’s, or Wind’s Daughter, or his birthday (which is, without a doubt, the most important holiday in his books), or the first day of summer, or if it’s been too long since he’s thrown a party.

This year, John decides to throw a party to celebrate some professional milestone for the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation. It’s as good a reason as any, and he wants a drink. He wants several drinks. He wants several drinks and, maybe, he admits to himself, he wants his friends around while he drinks them.

Like with any John Cameron Party™, Leticia arrives three hours early with a box of decorations and a honey-baked ham. Her girlfriend, standing a little behind her and looking as sunshine-y and irritating as always, is weighed down by bottles upon bottles of wine. 

John doesn’t know what he would do without Leticia holding his life together with duct tape in one hand and a chainsaw in the other. _What a woman_ , he thinks frequently. If he’s had enough drinks, and gets _exactly_ in the right mood, John would say that Leticia is his closest friend. 

Soon, the tea candles are placed on tables, the wine is poured into crystal glasses, and the mood is set. 

The cast and crew of the show begin arriving shortly after, as well as miscellaneous friends, family, and business acquaintances. John spots a few accountants from the Perpetual Broadcasting Corporation, some neighbors, and a gaggle of stagehands. Pierre and Francois stagger through the door joined at the hip, as usual, but seem to be toting a third man behind them. He wears a nicely fitted, if old, unfashionable, and ragged, dark blue suit, and looks very out of place.

John Cameron blinks.

“Julian?”

The smaller man starts, looking like a deer in the headlights. 

“Mr Cameron! Hi!”

“I have to say, I didn’t think you were the party type, Julian.” Although, now that he thinks about it, John has trouble imagining the janitor anywhere outside of the Eiffel Tower, doing anything but holding a mop or trying to interrupt the show.

“Oh, I’m not, really. I, um, Pierre and Francois made me c- I mean they brought me here. They said, um, they said I make them look taller? In comparison?” The janitor looks around the room guiltily and keeps babbling. “I didn’t really have anything better to do, I mean, except clean, I guess, but let’s be real when do I ever do that…” He laughs nervously. “I can leave, if you don’t want me here.”

“No!” John said, a little more loudly than was necessary. He cleared his throat. “Ahem, no, that won’t be necessary. Make yourself at home, Julian.”

A little stress melted off the janitor’s shoulders. 

John hadn’t necessarily _invited_ Julian to his party, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want him there. And he definitely didn’t want to kick him out. After everything Julian had done for him? Yes, the younger man had a penchant for finding _exactly_ how to ruin each show, just a little, but he had also saved John’s ass from a polar bear, a freaking _polar bear_ that John had dramatically _thrown himself toward_ and-

No. John refused to think about this more tonight. It had been almost a year, after all, and he didn’t want to get upset in front of his guests. Especially-

“Thanks, Mr. Cameron. I’ll see you around.” Julian awkwardly walked off into a hallway.

“You can call me John!” called John, but the janitor was already too far away to hear him. Too far away, in the hallway that went to the laundry room and nothing else. 

He’d be back, once he figured that out.

* * *

Jacques, as always, arrives fashionably late and pleasantly buzzed. He wears his tightest, shiniest button up shirt, and the pants that squeeze his ass like an enthusiastic lover. His rich black hair is slicked back and he is clean-shaven. He looks good, and he wants everyone to know it. 

The first person he sees is Leticia, who shoves a glass of champagne into his hands.

“I zought zis was a party, not a fashion show,” she teases. 

“Hey!” Jacques takes a thick sip. “The same can be said for you. _Nice suit_. Looks good on ya. Speaking of that, where’s your gal?”

Leticia smacks him.

“Eet ees much too early for zat, Jacques.” She sniffs. “She ees in ze kitchen. You know how she gets around hors d'oeuvres.”

Jacques does know. A few Christmases ago he had spent _hours_ making his great aunt’s famous oatmeal cookies, only to have them mysteriously disappear within fifteen minutes of _someone’s_ arrival. Not that he’s still bitter. Unlike those cookies, which were deliciously sweet.

“I’ll be sure to say hi,” he says instead of something unsavory which. again. like those damn cookies. “Who else is here?”

Leticia thinks, counting with her muscular fingers. “Hmm, zere is Margot, Lily,” she pauses, tallying up people in her head, “Ooh, Francois and Pierre, who brought ze janitor…” she looks at Jacques, raising one eyebrow slightly, insinuating.

“I have trouble believing John Cameron invited the kid,” Jacques says, failing to take attention away from the spreading blush on his (perfectly square) jaw. 

“Oh, no no, Francois and Pierre made _sure_ he would be here… een case someone wanted to… talk, or somezhing…”

“I don’t like what you’re implying!” Jacques points his (thick, perfectly manicured) finger at her and storms off.

He storms back on. 

“You didn’t,” he leans in closer, quieter, “say anything, did you?” He looks anywhere but at Leticia.

“Non, non, of course not Jacques, I am not a sociopath.” She forces eye contact. “At least, not yet…”

And with that, Jaques quickly moves himself into one of the parlors, where he spots his crowd. 

“Heya, Jacques!” Calls Pierre, waving him to join him in their circle of plush chairs and cross-legged floor-sitting.

A chorus of “Jacques!” greets him as he scooches up a chair. 

“What are you all up to?” 

“We’re playin’ truth or dare!” Francois says from the base of Pierre’s chair.

“Ah, cheers.” 

“Margot was just telling us about that time she ripped her pants during the show-”

“Aye, wha don’t ya tell eryone aboot it, huh? Not like et’s mah most embarrassing story, ar anathing,” Margot makes a face, and then continues on with the story. 

“So anaways, that is why ah’ll neva wear John’s leftova clothes t’ work ever again.”

Damn. Now Jacques wishes he had come earlier. He’ll ask later. 

“Jacques!” Margot startles him out of his… whatever that was. “Truth er dare?”

“Truth!” He blurts out, and then curses himself. He has _so many_ embarrassing stories, and if he had chosen dare they probably would have just asked him to lift someone, or something. 

The rest of the troupe huddles, brainstorming something embarrassing enough to ask. They pull back. 

“Ok. Jacques. Fuck, marry, kill. The Orbiting Human Circus. Go.”

Jacques thinks for a moment. “I would marry Leticia.” To a chorus of ‘obviously’ and ‘you would be so lucky’ and ‘not if I marry her first.’

“I would kill John Cameron. That guy needs to be sent down a peg, ya know? He’s always begging to be killed, youse guys ever notice that? Just give him what ‘e wants, its a win-win.” Nods, all around.

“And fuck the janitor.” 

Oops, that one was real. Stares. Uh. Better double down.

“It’s always the quiet ones, you know? I bet he would be real good in the sack.” Jacques tries to say this casually, as if it isn’t something he’s thought about every night for the past month.

“Uhh,” comes a voice from the doorway, and oh my god _why_.

“Julian!” 

“...What are you guys doing?”

Pierre chips in helpfully “We’re playing truth or dare!”

Julian frowns. “Truth or dare?” He turns over the words in his mouth, like he’s never heard them in that order before.

“Yeah, it’s a party game!” Jacques calls to the figure by the doorway, pretending that his face isn’t beet red. “Come on in! The water’s fine!” _The water’s fine? What the_ fuck, _Jacques? As if you haven’t said enough embarrassing things in the past minute._

Thankfully, the janitor seems to give up on understanding whatever awkwardness _that was_ , and instead flounders over to the group. He mentally weighs the seating possibilities for a second, then, carefully, sits at the base of Jacques’ chair.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Jacques can’t focus on anything outside of the janitor’s slim back pressed gently against his legs. Oh my god. Oh my god. Why did he have to sit _there?_ He tries to discreetly adjust himself with limited success. 

Back to the game. Anything to remove attention from himself.

* * *

John has a ballroom in his house. Because of course he does. It isn’t a broadcast ballroom, nor is it a particularly large ballroom, but it is at that intersection of roomy and elegant that classifies it as a ‘ballroom’ rather than ‘living room’ or ‘gymnasium.’ 

The moon has danced further across the sky, and the crowds seem keen to follow. Duos glide across the floor in a waltz, and Julian watches, content. This reminds him of the parties his great-grandfather used to hold, where after a certain amount of drinks the adults would whisk each other away onto the dance floor. He remembers the kind older men who taught him the etiquette of social dancing, and the elegant women who taught him the steps of the waltz, the foxtrot, and, on some particularly memorable occasions, west coast swing. 

Julian sits, reminiscing. He finds himself fantasizing about a handsome man sweeping him off his feet, asking him for just one more dance. 

_The man asks for his hand, and they waltz deep into the night. Their bodies move as one like a current in a river, rushing and crashing and wanting and powerful. Julian is graceful, all lean lines and pointed toes, and the man holds him tightly, strong enough to whisk him away into the night sky. Julian flies through the air, but finds security in the man’s arms, knowing he will never be dropped. It is as if they have danced this dance a thousand times, to every choreographed breath, but everything is new and spontaneous like a first kiss._

_“Hey,” says the man, and his voice is so familiar. It’s more than familiar. It’s- It’s real!_

Julian blinks. 

“Hey, kid,” Jacques says again. “You’ve been sitting there for a while. You wanna dance?” He extends a hand.

And Julian really does. 

He doesn’t, however, anticipate the jerky wiggling that Jacques calls ‘dancing.’

“What are you doing?” Julian can’t help but laugh at him.

“What? I’m dancing!” Jacques is really working his elbows. 

It may not be the glamorous waltz that Julian was dreaming about, but it was dancing, dancing with _Jacques_ , and he would take that over formality with a stranger any day. So, he jumps in, flopping around the dance floor with the most handsome man in the room.

“I bet I could lift ya,” Jacques brags, wobbling his knees and pumping his fists in the air. 

“What! No way!” Julian has no doubt that Jacques could lift him.

“I betcha three dollars-”

“Jacques, does it look like I have three dollars-”

Jaqcues stops his ‘dancing’ to scoop up the janitor, bridal-style. 

“Hey!”

“Jesus, kid, you weigh, like, three kilos.”

“Put me down!”

“And I can also carry you like this-’

“Oh my gosh I’m gonna fall!”

“- and like thiiiis-”

“This is the end. This is how I die.”

“Aaaaaand you’re on the ground.” Julian cautiously opens one eye, and _wow_ he is a lot closer to Jacques that he was before. He smiles at Jacques. 

“That’ll be three bucks.” And Julian smacks his arm. 

“Um, no,” he steps back a little. “How about I teach you how to actually dance instead.”

He swears that Jacques is blushing, but he’s probably just sweaty from throwing Julian around like pizza dough. 

Jacques smiles. “I’d like that.”

* * *

“Like this?”

“Um, yeah, just, um,” Julian moves one of Jacques’s hands onto his waist. “Keep your hand here during the whole step, even when we rotate.”

Jacques is once again more pink in the face than usual. Julian hopes he isn’t overheating. 

They try again. 

“Yeah, hey! That was it!” Julian rubs Jacques’s shoulder encouragingly. “See, you’ve got it!”

“I got a good teacher.” The corners of Jacques’s eyes wrinkle and he scrunches his nose in a way that Julian thinks is absolutely adorable. 

The song changes to a slow french ballad. A love song, Julian thinks. He has some faint memories of this playing on the radio a few years ago, during the winter.

“Is this a waltz song?” Jacques asks. 

“No,” says Julian. “It’s a. Hm.” He bites his lip. “It’s a slow dance song.”

“Okay,” Jacques says slowly, standing absolutely still. “Is that like a waltz song?”

Julian laughs like bells. 

“No. Just, here,” He moves Jacques’s other hand to his waist, and loops his hands around Jacques’s neck. “Like this.”

“Uh,” says Jacques. He is still dead weight like a rock. 

“And then sway, a little?” Julian shifts his weight slowly from side to side, until Jacques follows. 

“This is nice.” Jacques says, as a cover for not knowing where to look.

“Mm, yeah.” Julian looks up at the taller man. Before he can stop himself, he uses his hand to softly guide Jacques’s gaze towards his own. 

“Thank you.”

Their faces are very close. Julian can feel Jacques’s breath on his lips, and it is warm and spiced and nice. 

“For what?” Jacques asks, and Julian smiles tenderly.

“For this.”

Their lips are almost touching now. It would just take one move, one thought for them to embrace.

“Can I…” Jacques murmurs, practically against Julian’s own lips. 

“Yes.”

And then, everything is soft and warm and nice. Jacques tastes like champagne and cinnamon, and his hand rests securely on Julian’s lower back, as if making sure he doesn’t fade out of existence. Julian feels so safe. 

They part, slowly, hesitantly. Jacques’s eyes are round and vulnerable, more so than Julian has ever seen

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

“Geet a room.”

Their heads snap to a table behind them, where Leticia sits, smirking. 

“Oh my god, Leticia! We were having a moment!” Jacques looks _furious._

“I could see zat,” says Leticia. “Could you maybe have zat moment zomewhere elze? Zome of uz are trying to eat” Beside her, her girlfriend gives the two men a thumbs-up. Well, she tries her best with a bacon-wrapped date in each palm.

Jacques rolls his eyes. He takes Julian by the hand.

“Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here.”

* * *

“So, why do you have a room in Mister Cameron’s house again?”

Julian sits on the largest bed he has ever seen, swinging his feet anxiously. 

“It’s not my room, per say,” Jacques explains. “There’s a couple ‘guest rooms’ for John’s friends, and I’ve used this one so much no one else bothers.” 

Julian hums. 

“So, uh,” Jacques is uncharacteristically nervous, a little sweat sprinkling his perfectly shaped brow. “You’re, uh, you’re a good dancer.”

Julian smiles shyly and looks down. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

“I’m serious!”

“I know.” Julian takes both of Jacques’s hands in his own. He rubs his thumbs absently along the large, smooth palms. “So serious. Serious Jacques.” Jacques rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious about how cute you are,” he says, and Julian laughs the laugh Jacques would pay a million dollars to hear. 

“Mm, come ‘ere.” He tugs Jacques’s tie to seat him on the bed. “Let’s be close.”

* * *

Julian wakes up to the sun peeking through his closed eyelids and a warm arm draped over his shoulders. He is so comfortable. It’s never this warm, or soft, or safe in his closet, and it takes a moment for him to remember the events of last night. 

He smiles.

He also really has to pee.

“Psst.” Julian pokes the sleeping form next to him. “Pssst. Jacques.”

“Hnggh.” Jacques eloquently responds.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

Jacques grunts again, and waves his arm in the vague direction of ‘left.’

“Thanks,” Julian kisses him once on the forehead, and hops out of bed. 

Jaques, immediately feeling cold air rush in where the janitor used to be, pulls the comforter over his head. 

* * *

“Julilan?”

The Janitor, in the process of opening the door back into Jacques’s room, swivels around, startled.

“Mr. Cameron! Uh.”

“Julian, what are you still doing here?” John Cameron looks a little befuddled and also very tired. His fluffy maroon robe is draped lazily around a set of silk striped pajamas. 

“I uh…” Julian looks around the hallway as if any of the framed paintings might hold an explanation. 

Fortunately, he is interrupted by someone, saving Julian from having to say anything. Unfortunately, that someone is Jacques, shirtless from the half-open door behind him.

“Julian, baby, come back to bed,” calls Jacques sleepily, voice hoarse and a little whiny.

“Oh. I see,” says John Cameron, and Jacques suddenly is very awake. 

Julian squeaks and runs into the room, slamming the door behind him.

“See you two at work tonight!” John calls out uselessly.

**Author's Note:**

> I might elaborate on the truth or dare scene in a later fic. I think that would be fun but it didnt quite fit the tone I was going for, ya know?
> 
> It physically hurt me to write the dancing part because my brain kept going NO DONT TOUCH SIX FEET DISTANCE and anyways it is possible I have some things to work through. enjoy this soft & tender fic cuz lord knows we all need a little slow dancing


End file.
